"What the hell, you bastard?!" Natasha shrieked, stumbling backward just as a porcelain bowl crashed at her feet. Soup splattered across the polished tiles, steam rising in angry swirls.
"I-I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean to, it was a m-mistake!" Anastasia stammered, her voice trembling. She sat in her wheelchair, hands shaking on her lap, head bowed so low it seemed she wanted to disappear into herself.
Natasha sneered, her perfect lips curling. "A mistake? Your whole existence is a mistake." She stepped forward and slapped her across the face, the crack echoing through the dining room.
Pain burned along Anastasia's cheek, but she bit her lip, refusing to cry out. Crying always made it worse.
"It's my fault, Natasha. I'm sorry," she whispered, blinking as her vision blurred with tears she didn't dare let fall.
Natasha, seventeen and radiant, looked like something carved out of envy—waist-length dirty-blonde hair, ocean-blue eyes, flawless skin. To strangers, she was the image of a fairytale princess. But to Anastasia, she was a wolf dressed in silk.
"Damn right it's your fault," Natasha hissed. "You can't even sit in that chair without ruining someone else's life."
The commotion drew footsteps from upstairs. A woman descended, her heels clicking sharply against the staircase. She had the same cutting blue eyes as Natasha, framed by sleek dark hair.
"What's going on here?" she demanded.
"Mum!" Natasha's voice broke as she ran into her arms, already crying. "This cripple isn't satisfied with destroying her own life—she tried to ruin mine too!"
Anastasia's stomach twisted. The moment Mrs. Gale appeared, she knew what was coming.
Mrs. Gale's eyes narrowed like blades. "Are you trying to make my daughter suffer the same fate as you?" she spat.
Anastasia clenched her fists on her lap. What? It's just soup. Why are they exaggerating? But she didn't dare say it aloud.
Her mind flickered back to the kitchen, to the chain of events that had led here. Natasha barging in, rejecting the food she'd been told to cook, insisting on yam porridge instead. Anastasia had argued, weakly, but Natasha's glare had silenced her. Make. Me. Yam. Porridge.
It had taken her an hour and a half, her arms aching as she stirred. When she finally set it on the table, Natasha had only sneered. "What took you so long? I thought you died in there."
Anastasia had just laid the food on the table when Natasha shoved a bowl of soup into her hands grumbling there wasn't any space on the table to eat,she hadn't expected it so she subconsciously pushed the bowl with steam away....
Hence the situation right now
The slap came faster than her thoughts. This time from Mrs. Gale. The blow was so hard it knocked Anastasia out of her chair. She hit the floor, her body crumpling awkwardly. More slaps, more blows rained down.
"You stupid child! Why won't you just die already ?" Mrs. Gale's voice shook with venom. "Why didn't that useless mother of yours take you when she was going, instead of leaving you here to ruin my life?"
Anastasia's tears slipped free at last, trailing down her cheek into her hair. She had heard it all before. Ever since her mother's death three years ago, her life had been a chain of cruelty. Her father, once her protector, had grown cold after bringing this woman and her daughter into the house. Now he ignored her completely.
Mrs. Gale finally stepped back, breathing hard. "Touch my daughter again, and I swear it'll be the last thing you ever do," she hissed before storming off with Natasha, who shot one last victorious smirk over her shoulder.
Alone in the dining room, Anastasia dragged herself upright, her arms trembling as she pulled the wheelchair back into place. She eased into it, adjusted her legs, and forced herself to clean the mess. The smell of broken porcelain and spilled soup clung to the air.
When the woman finally exhausted her strength, she stepped back. Anastasia was a mess. "Touch my daughter again, and that is the day you'll go and meet your mother," Mrs. Gale spat, leaving the room with her daughter, who cast a sneering glance over her shoulder.
Anastasia got up and dragged herself to her wheelchair. She struggled with the weight of her battered body, her muscles screaming with the effort of righting the chair and pulling herself back into the seat. She managed to sweep up the broken bowl and clean the floor, then automatically prepared a new bowl of soup before retreating to her small room.
Then the memory hit her like another blow: the dry-cleaning.
Eleven-oh-three. The digital clock glowed red, mocking her. She had to go; Mrs. Gale would beat her senseless if the clothes weren't collected beforr tomorrow. She pushed her wheelchair out of the house, the small, plastic wheels clicking loudly over the grout of the driveway. She had to hurry; the estate gate closed at midnight, and she knew neither woman would bother to ring security for her. Her dad, who was often cold but might have helped, wasn't home.
Her arms ached, but the rhythm of the push was an old, familiar pain—a dull ache that was preferable to the sharp one on her cheek.
She pushed her wheelchair across the street.The street was hushed, heavy with silence. A thin breeze stirred the trees, scattering dry leaves across the pavement. Above, the stars glittered unusually bright, like shards of glass across velvet. For the briefest second, Anastasia thought one flickered green, pulsing faintly—as if watching her. She blinked, and it was gone.She shook her head.
Probably her tired eyes.
At the crossroad, she didn't bother with the ramp. The night seemed empty. No cars, no sound. It's fine.
But she had underestimated her luck.
A roar split the silence. Headlights. Too fast. Too close.
"Wait—"
The impact tore her words away. The world spun. Her body lifted, twisting in the air like a broken kite before crashing down. Pain exploded through her. Blood seeped warm across the cold asphalt.
Her vision blurred. Somewhere in the distance, the car screeched—then sped off into the dark.
Was this really how it would end?
No… She fought to keep her eyes open. I don't want to die. I haven't lived yet. I haven't seen the good in life. Please… just one chance…
Her breaths came shallow. The night air grew colder, heavier. The stars above seemed to ripple strangely, their light bending, pulling her in..
"Maybe...just maybe,this is better"a single tear streaked down her face as her vision turned black.